Salt Prayers & Devils Laughter
by lotus rouge
Summary: Lady Isabella Stafford of Buckingham is on the run. Her father is dead by the will of the king, her sister and mother are banished from court, and she is running from a marriage with a man she hates. A man who will do anything to get his bride back.
1. Chapter I

_Okay people, this is my first fanfic ever. I am a big Charles Brandon fan, and in this fic I made him the "villain" of the story. I chose my female lead to be the sister of Anne Buckingham from the "The Tudors", though it is not certain she has one. But I will do it this way. The Duke of Buckingham is dead, but his wife is alive and both his daughters are alive. I should also mention that I am from Norway, so if my language has any mistakes, please forgive. _

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Her movements are rapid, her breath uneven. Her small fingers are fumbling with her cloak, she is shaking. The bags and chests are packed, the carriage is ready and everything is set for her escape. But does she have the courage to do so? What if he finds her? Or, more, _when_ he finds her, will he be angry? Of course he will be. He will be outrageous, like a wild beast. Another shudder creeps up her spine at thought of him in that mood. She has seen him like that only ones; the first time she tried to escape him:

She had been trapped in one of the many labyrinths in the gardens of Whitehall, and he had followed her in. She knew he was angry, she could tell by his voice when he called for jealousy was sickening, they weren't even married! And if she got her way, they would never be. She had danced one or three dances with the visiting Spanish Marquise Delgado y Allende at the feast of May. Every time the Marquise turned her around, she could feel his piercing stare. It burned a whole right trough her, trough her wary soul. When the Marquise had finally let her go, she stalked past him with daggers in her back. And then she ran.

She could hear his footsteps, his calls; she felt his breath when he finally caught her. She fought the best she could, tried to run, to scream, but he silenced her with his mouth. His kiss was hard, passionate, dominant. It made her cringe. He bit her bottom lip, tried to enter her mouth. It was hard enough to draw blood, but she refused and instead, she kneed his groin. He threw his head back in pain, and she almost managed to get away. Almost. He jumped after her, grabbed her hair and trapped her between the wall of wigs. She tried to kick him again, but he trapped her legs between his and caught her wrists above her head in his strong hand. He used the other one to grab her chin and forcing her to look at him.

"What the hell was that, Isabella? Huh?" She gave him her most defying look. "I was dancing, you bastard, what do you think?! Let me go this instant!" He narrowed his eyes. "You call that dancing? That fucking prick almost fucked you right there! You are mine, have you forgotten that?" His eyes where on fire, his handsome face struck with anger and madness. He looked like an angel of revenge, with a dash of Satan himself. At that moment, she was afraid him. She had never been so stricken with fear ever. He was so tall and large, and she was so small, he could easily break her down to little pieces! As the King's best friend, he could basically do whatever he wanted to whoever he wanted. And she was no exception. She was noble, but so was he, at least now, now that the King had granted him an estate and a title. " I am not your woman! I am no ones woman!" Her voice was tired, small, but she raised it as much as she could. " I hate you to the wary depths of my soul! I will never marry you! Never!"

She tore her face away from him, but he grabbed her again, and this time, he pulled her hair back at the same time. "You are mine, lady. I don't care what you want; I don't care what you think. I don't know what you have imagined yourself about this, but you are ought to be the Duchess of Suffolk in two short months, and I will not have my wife strolling around other men! You are mine, Isabella! MINE!" With that, he released his hold of her, and she fell to the ground. He cocked his head while looking at her defying face. "Still not quite given up, are we, sweetheart? Well, well, we have plenty of time taming you during the following weeks. You know I love a challenge!" His anger was now entirely gone, leaving only a teasing, cruel tone and triumphing steps as he walked away from her, leaving her to her sobs of frustration.

"Milady Stafford?" Her old nurse and the young guard that has been paid of to help them bring her out of her memories. "Milady, are you ready? This is the only chance we have!" She nods, throws her hood on, and they leave the room quickly. On their way down the stairs, she thinks about him again. Him, the reason she is fleeing her home, her family, her King and Queen. Rage and fear coil in her stomach when she pictured his face. His handsome, angelic face with the strong, masculine features. Any lady at the court would kill to be in her shoes. They can have him, she doesn't care. All she wants is to be as far away from him as possible. She really, really hates him. Now more than ever, now that the wedding is only three weeks ahead. If she gets caught now, he will never let her out of his sight again.

They make it past the guards, thanks to her disguise. Her long, golden hair is stuck up her maiden cape, and her simple dress and dark wool cloak hides her noble features. Out in the yard, a wagon awaits, fully packed. She and her old nurse climbs in, while the young guard takes the reins. She turns one more time to look at Whitehall, before she feels the carriage moving and she closes her eyes. Praying he will not find out before dawn. She keeps on praying until the castle is out of site.

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_What did you think? I am not quite sure if I am going to continue with this, so please review and tell me what you think. Also, I am not quite happy with the title, so if you have a suggestion, tell me! _

_hugs and kisses_


	2. Chapter II

_hey people:D thanks for the nice reviews, always helpful:D anyway, I dont think I explained the plot very much in the first chapter in the A/N, so I will try this time:_

_Isabella Stafford, youngest daughter of the Edward Stafford, Duke of Buckingham. She is 17 years old, and was sent to court when she was 11, with her sister, Anna. When she was 12, she was sent to France alongside her mother, who was a friend of the french Queen, Claudette. She stayed there for 3 years. Meanwhile, Anna was seduced by Charles Brandon, and her father sent her to a nunnery. Isabella has not seen her since. When Isabella returned to court, Brandon saw her and recognized her as Annas sister. Thinking she was as empty headed as her sister, he went for it, but she turned him down several times, which maid him obsessed with having her. When her father was beheaded for treason, Charles convinced her mother that the only way for her and Isabella ever to show their faces public again, was for Isabella to marry him. Her mother desperately agreed, doing what she thought was best for her child. Isabella hated Brandon, but was forced to stay behind by the King himself when her mother left court in disgrace._

_Also, in this story, Brandon never fell in love with princess Margaret. He just delivered her in Portugal and left again. He and King Henry are still very young, somewhere in their early twenties._

_So this chapter is written from Brandons POV. I am going to switch a little between the POV, at least for some of the early chapters. I might also change from present to past, I havent decided yet. Anyway, enjoy:D_

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He wakes up with a startle. His heart is pounding, his eyes are wide open. He is gasping for air as he looks aroundhis chamber. No sign of her. No sign if the woman he just dreamt of. Just darkness, only lit by a single candelabrum on the wall. He sights, and falls back into the pillows. The soft cotton strokes his bare, muscular back, and for a second,he imagines that it is her hands that are caressing him, stroking him.

Her silky blond hair teases his neck,her small hands drawing circles and her mouth kissing her way down his back, all the way around. He groans, as his erection grows larger and larger. He thinks of her small, cream coloured breasts, that he has yet to take in his mouth and kiss. His hand reaches down and starts to stroke himself, hard and fast. He imagines her dark eyes,swimming with desire, and her legs, her fantastic legs, spread open and ready for him. But then he stops.

No, that is not the way he wants her. He wants her on her feet, dressed and angry. His fantasy expires, and her hand suddenly slaps him across the face. She screams at him, what for he doesn't care about, all he can think of is her beautiful, outrageous face. When she tries to slap him again, he grabs her wrists and pins them down her he kisses her forcefully, he bits her lip and she opens her mouth in pain.

He cries out as he fantasizes of ripping her dress of, biting her perky nipples, of fucking her into the madras. Of pinning her arms above her head, as she yells and screams and kicks and tries to cast him off. But he holds her down, pushing her further down as hard as he can.

When he finally comes, he imagines her glorious body, all naked and slightly bruised beneath him. She looks at him with tears in her eyes, as a load sob escapes her. He lets out a satisfied sight as he closes his eyes and tries to sleep on.

But then, the dream is coming back. A picture of her, running, running fast trough the woods haunts his inner vision. He is chasing her, but he can't seem to catch her. She escapes again and again, and he gets farer and farer behind. Suddenly, he can't see her. He calls her name, he demands her return, but all he can see, is trees and a thick fog. He calls her again, but she doesn't come.

Sleep won't return either, and he stands up, walking over to the window. The sky is dark blue, with a rosy edge, announcing sunrise. He cocks his head,wondering about the dream. He knows it will probably always be like that. Her running, him pursuing. She screaming, him groaning. Her fighting, him fucking.

He doesn't know why he wants her so bad. She is not even that beautiful. Her sister, Anne, is way prettier and a sweet and loving creature. He has tons of women at this court and others that would gladly lie down on their backs for him. They would happily take him, love him, obey him, bore him. Like when he fucked her sister, he was happy, but she was no challenge at all. No woman ever is.

He just says a few words of love, give them his boyish smile and even the most uptight old nurse will melt to a puddle on the floor. But not her. She turned him down every time he tried to convince her to go to bed with him. Hell, she even turned and walked away when he tried talking to her.

And when he finally had her alone, with no chance to escape, he demanded to know why she wouldn't bed him. And she answered him in the same superior, cold, disrespectful voice she always talked to him with: "First of all, I would rather sew my cunt together then to ever have sex with you, Mr. Brandon, because you are a filthy, rude bastard who tricked sister in to loosing her honor! You know, my father sent her to a nunnery and I haven't seen her since! I will never forgive you for what you did to her. And second, you are not my type of man. I prefer those who are free of syphilis."

He just looked at her. No woman had ever dared speaking to him in that manner. Her eyes were ablaze, her head raised high. She looked so proud, so superior, that he just had so say something. He opened his mouth tospeak, but was interrupted by her. "Chose your words carefully, Mr. Brandon. I am not in the mood for your childish comments."

That raised the anger in him. How dared she! She was a woman! And he was the Kings best friend! He tensed his jaw, narrowing his eyes at her." For your information, milady, I don't have syphilis, so you don't have to worry about my health. And for your sister, I am terribly sorry. What a waste, having such a good slag locked up!"

He smirked at her, enjoying the priceless expression on her face. Before he knew it, she had slapped his face twice, and she was on her way to the third when he grabbed her wrist. " How dare you! You son of a street whore! How dare you, a commoner, speak of my sister like that! She is of the house of York, and what are you? A peasant! Without noble blood, without any rights! I despise you!"

He stared at her, letting all the frustration and anger he felt towards her fill his eyes. " And how dare you, milady, speak to me like that! And slap me, at the top of it! I am Charles Brandon, King Henry's VIIIbest friend! I suggest you'd be a little nicer towards me, unless you want a royal command to let me fuck you!"

Was there a little bit of fear he saw in her eyes? The thought of being commanded to his bed, that was something she couldn't refuse to do. Therefore he was surprised when she smirked up at him and stepped closer. "But you would never do that, would you, Mr. Brandon?" He looked surprised down at her.

"Why the hell not?" Her smirk became wider. "Because that would be too easy. Knowing you couldn't have me without help would bother you too much." He was so taken aback by this extremely male way to think, that he didn't realise she only stood a few cm away.

"But you can forget it. As I said, I will never, ever get even close to your bedchamber. Goodbye, Mr. Brandon." With that, she tore her wrist from him, and stalked out of the room. He couldn't do any thing but to stand there and watch her live. With a sneer at his face that would scare even Lucifer away.

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He sights again. He doesn't know if he loves her or hates her. The line between them has been smudged out a longtime ago. The right word seems to be obsessed. Yes, that could be right. He wants to shake her so hard that she sees stars, and at the same time he wants to make love to her so sweet that she will never leave his bed willingly. Not that that will ever happen, she loathes him even more now than before.

In some way, he is glad she hates him. It will make their marriage much more interesting than if she actually loved him. Something she might do in time, but as for right now, there seems to be no hope. Not that he cares. There is nothing she can do to escape him now. He laughs a small, bitter laughter. He really is a sick, twisted son of a whore, as she called him when he told her they were ought to be married. She had thrown object after object at him, forcing him away from her. He had just laughed and told her she could kick and scream all she wanted, but it was going to happen. He is just like the king in matters like this. He always gets what he wants. Always.

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"Her Majesty, The Queen!" The announcer calls out as the Queen and her ladies pass. He is standing alongside Anthony Knivert, and turns to the ladies passing, expecting to see his betroth, but no. She is nowhere in sight. He looks again, this time thoroughly, counting them. He is right; Isabella is missing. "Hey, where is your lady, Brandon?" Knivert pokes his side. " Where is the beautiful Isabella?"

He looks at his long time friend,considering what to answer. Where is his woman? If she is not with the Queen, maybe she is in her chambers. Ill? He doubts it. Isabella is as healthy as a horse. Then maybe she is in a meeting. The first thing that comes to his mind is that she is cheating on him. Maybe with that piece of shit the Marquis Delgado y Allende? Or maybe with one of the Queens male servants?

He feels the jealousy coil in his stomach. A dark scowl has appeared on his face. Without another word, he turns away from Knivert and stalks after the Queens convoy. "Your Majesty!" He has to call a few more times and take a shortcut to stop them. "Yes, your Grace?" The Queen looks at him with polite annoyance.

"You must forgive me, your Majesty, but I must ask you if you know were Lady Stafford is today? I see she is not among your ladies." The Queen looked curiously at him. "I freed lady Stafford from all off her duties today, she told me she had some business to attend regarding the wedding. Didn't she tell your Grace? I would have thought so, considered you're the groom..?" He raises his eyebrows in what seems to be light confusion, while his inside is a boiling pit of jealousy and suspicion.

"As would I, your Majesty. A would I. Thank you for your information, I am sure there is an explanation." The Queen nods gracefully. "Your Grace." He bows slightly. "Your Majesty." He stalks towards her chambers. Business regarding the wedding, huh? She wouldn't have touched the wedding plans with a poker! No, he is quite sure that she is with another man. And that man is going to wish he never laid his eyes on Isabella Stafford when he finds him.

He takes a deep breath before he knocks at her door. "Lady Stafford? Its me, Charles!" No answer. He takes another deep breath before he knocks again, a little harder this time. "Isabella? I need to talk to you! Now!" Still no answer. He swears lowly before he starts knocking loudly at the door. "Isabella! I am going to knock this door down if you don't open it within one minute!" Nothing. Not even a small sound of whispering, rapid breaths and footsteps. "Isabella! Last chance!"

And when that doesn't work, he looses it. He summons two guards from the hallway, and makes them break the door down. At the third push, the lock breaks, and the guards tumble in to an empty room. He follows quickly, and gets the shock of his life.

Her room is almost ripped of everything. Her bed is neatly made, and her chests are gone. Her nightpot is as empty as the rest of the room. He can't believe it. He refuses to believe that she has actually managed to escape him. He looks at the guards. "Go find His Majesty. Tell him I need to talk to him right away. Tell him that is an emergency. Quick!" The guards live the room, whispering low. He, on the other hand, walks over to the window. He leans at the frame, looking out at Whitehall's marks and gardens. A horrible scowl has formed at his handsome face, his eyes dark as the nightsky.

"You fucking bitch."

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_What did you think about this one? Review please:)_


	3. Chapter III

**Disclaimer: I dont own anything, nor do I make any money from my writing**

_Hello again:D I am so sorry for the delay, RL came in the way:P Anyways, here is a new chapter. I wrote it like three times, but here its is! _

_I have made some changes in the style. From now on, I will write in past(please tell me of you like or not), and it will be from both _

_Isabella´s, Charles´s and OC´s view from now on. The first two chapters were different so you could get the feeling of the characters._

_Enjoy!_

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"She left? Are you sure? How the hell is that possible?" Charles closed is eyes." With all do respect, your Majesty, you know well how that is possible." The king scowled at him.

"Don't be insolent, Brandon, its too early in the morning for that." He shook his head, trying to get rid of the headache that had bothered him all morning. "Your Majesty, I am asking you, as your friend and your loyal servant, you must help me find her!!" The king looked at him again. "I still can't see why you want her that much. She is not that much of a beauty, you know, and she is insolent, sarcastic and obstinacy! I could get you any lady you like at court and in all of England, but you chose the daughter of a traitor! Even the proud and stubborn daughter of a traitor! And, and listen closely now, my dear Charles, she has made it quite clear, both with this act, and in the past, that she doesn't want you."

Charles gritted his teeth together; no one, not even the king was allowed to talk about his woman like that. Even though it was all true. Very true indeed. "I want her because she is mine. And she has dared to defy me, her betroth, with leaving like this. And not just me, your Majesty, but also you and the Queen! She did not ask permission to leave court, did she?"

Henry had to agree at that point. Whether or not he was pleased with Charles's choice of wife, she had shown insufferable arrogance by leaving court without his or the Queens permission. If nothing else, she had courage; he had to agree on that. She was fierce, and just the fact that she had turned down Brandon was a true sign of her character. He knew for a fact that she was not a virgin, not by far, but still; her moral and character did seem spotless enough, and when he thought about it, she had a certain something about her.

A cold sensuality, as Charles had called it when he first came to him to plead his help with the girl. Henry had quite a laugh at it at first, but then, he really understood how obsessed Brandon was with the lady Stafford. He had an almost mad flash in his eyes when he talked about her, and that actually scared the King a bit. But, he was still hurt and angered to the bone about the Duke of Buckingham's treachery, so he did not have any scruples when he did what Brandon wanted; he called the Duchess of Buckingham back to court in good graces, and in return, made her promise her youngest daughter to Charles.

And now, he was still prepared to help his best friend. "Very well, my friend, you are absolutely right. Not only has she been disrespectful to you, her betroth, but also towards me, and Queen Katherine. She ought to be found and taken back to court. Are you pleased, your Grace?" Charles looked around the room at the advisers and counsellors. " May I speak with you in private, your Majesty?" The King narrowed his eyes. "Follow me."

They went, side by side, in to the private chambers of the King. There, Henry turned to Charles. "Why can't you tell me your answer in public?" Charles's face had suddenly turned into a mask of malice and darkness.

"Because you are the only I can tell it the right way to. I am pleased that you will help me, Henry, but she is not just going to be found and taken back to court. She ought to be hunted down and if I have to, be dragged back to court by her hair!" The King looked lightly surprised and slightly amused, but Charles wasn't finished.

"And then, for your question back there, why I want her so; I really don't know. All I know, is that when I find her, and believe me, I will, I am going to drag her up to the alter, force that I do from her, and then I will fuck her so hard in to the bed that she wont be able to walk for several weeks!"

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Isabella shook from lack of sleep and stress. Even though it was almost high summer, the heat couldn't take away her shaking shoulders and icy hands. Her nurse looked at her. "Please, milady, you must get some sleep. You will soon go on alone, and you will need your rest." Isabella just stared at her. "Not yet, we are not far enough away."

The nurse sighted impatiently. "My dear, sweet child, we have been going half the night and half the morning! We are far ahead of any one who will persuade us!" She was telling a lie, both of them knew it, but it made Isabella feel a bit calmer. In short time, she would be alone on the horseback, and the nurse and the young guard would be heading towards the nurses family in the North.

If they made it to the nurse's village, the story was that she had gone home to see her relatives, and the young guard had been her safety at the road. When they would ask about the young maid that had been seen leaving with her, she would say that it was her niece that was going home with her.

It probably wouldn't hold very long, but it was the only plan they had. Isabella felt the tears pricking behind her eyes, but she would not let them fall. She had never cried for him, nor would she ever. Even though he was the very reason to everything. And what made her feel even worse was the tightening in her abdomen when she pictured his face and body. She wasn't a complete idiot; she knew he was an extremely handsome and beautiful man with a gorgeous body.

Every woman could see that. She remembered the first time she saw him, how beautiful she thought he was. She understood perfectly how her sister had gotten involved with him. He looked like an ancient good, and combined with a devils charm and wit, no woman could resist him.

His dark, smouldering eyes haunted her inner vision, the fire burning there made her cringe, even though she only imagined it. She shook even more, now from fear, as well as lack of sleep. The nurse reached over and took her hand. "Don't be afraid, my dear child. He will never find you. He will follow the carriage tracks, and you will be far away in France. There, your mothers relatives will help you."

Isabella tried to smile, but it was no heart in it. She was too scared for that. Charles would skin her alive, she was sure of that. And her mother.. What would happen to her mother? She knew the only reason that her mother was back at court, was that she had promised Isabella to Brandon. And now that she had run off, what would the Charles do?

Would he make the king send her away, or even worse, make him take away her title and estate? She just had to trust that Charles's pride wouldn't stand that he needed to blackmail her into marry him. Her head began to hurt, her shoulders were tense. She had tried to tell herself over and over again; she was not afraid of him.

She was a princess, a noble woman of the house of York. Why should she be afraid of a peasant, a man whose fortune was made by the king?! She sighted. One year ago, all of that would have been true. And it was true, but it didn't matter anymore. No one would be seen even talking to the family of a traitor, let alone befriend or help them. She had no contacts, no relatives in England that could help her, or her mother. Her elder sister, Anne, was safe in nunnery, but her poor mother..

The tears threatened to overcome her, but she forced them back again. Her mother would manage. She was strong and intelligent, she would make it. And she had always said that her daughters always should do everything to keep their integrity and independence. When Isabella was betrothed to Brandon, her mother had thought she did what was best for her child. Such a handsome man, intelligent and a favourite off the king. How was she to know the real reason the Duke wanted her daughter in marriage.

The nurse shook Isabella out of her worried thoughts. "We are here, madam. Lets get you out of those robes." Isabella nodded, and let the nurse drag the thin linen dress over her head. The cotton slip was even thinner, and she felt extremely composed, with the young guard right outside the door.

"Here!" The nurse took a long piece of cloth, and pulled her slip up, until it looked like a tunic, and tied it nicely. Then, she handed Isabella a pair of men's pants, dark brown in colour. As a finish, she got a green tunic over the white slip, tied together with a brown ribbon. Her long hair was stuffed in under her grey cloak. The nurse sent her a disappointed look. "You still don't look like a man, not even a boy! Your body is wellhidden, but your face.."

Isabella looked down her body. Her already small breasts were covered completely, and you couldn't see her narrow hips. Her face, on the other hand, was still recognisable. There was nothing they could do about that, all she had to do know, was to get the hell out of England. She pulled on the leather boots, and went out off the wagon.

The guard gave her one of the horses, the fastest one, and fastened her saddle. Then he gave her the reins. Isabella turned to her nurse. "Be careful, Elsebeth! Don't let them hurt you! If they threaten you with torture, just tell them the truth! Please, promise me that you wont let them hurt you, or him."

She gave the guard a thankful look. The nurse looked at her with teary eyes. "My dear child, just watch out for yourself. Don't let the Duke catch you, for all that is holy." The women gave each other a hug, before Isabella straddled the horse. "Bless you both." The guard stepped forward. " And bless you too, lady Buckingham."

Isabella fought to keep the tears back, as she rode in to the forest.

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"There, we are ready, milord!" The captain of the searching team bowed in front of the Duke of Suffolk. Charles gave the man a burning look. "Then go, and send your men along every path, every little forest track. When you find her, let me know immediately!"

The captain bowed again. "Milord. We will do our very best." Charles looked at the man again. "Excuse me?" The captain was taken aback at his tone. " I said, your Grace, we will do our very best."

It wasn't even five seconds later, before the captain was posted at the ground, with the Dukes foot at his chest. "You mean; you will find her! You will not just do your best, you WILL find her!"

With that, he released the man, and strode in to the castle. The captain hurried up, and led his team out of the gates. That poor lady, he thought, because he had seen the madness that shone in the Dukes eyes. And it scared him to the very depths of his soul.

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_Please R&R as always3_

_hugs and kisses_


	4. Chapter IIII

_Hey people:D I its been foreeveer since I updated last time, but I was considering putting this story on ice. _

_BUT, I changed my mind, and the story is back on. So enjoy this angsty chapter:S _

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The night was approaching. A dark edge had already covered most off the pink and golden dawn, and the clouds were smokeblue. Charles stood in his fiancées room, looking at the had received no news of Isabella, only that that it seemed, do to some research, her nurse had followed and helped her escape. It was reported, by a one of the servants, that he had heard a carriage leaving in the early hours. He estimated the time to be around one or two o'clock in the morning, but he was not sure. The seekers had found no trace, no tracks. It was too long after, and even in the dry summer earth, it was almost impossible to find anything useful.

Charles sighted, and drove his fingers trough his tick, dark hair. Why did she do this do him? How could she do this to him? Why wouldn't she just reconcile with her destiny and give up? He knew the answer. Because he would never do it. They were alike, much to her dislike, but she knew it as well as he did. They both were stubborn, proud and passionate objects. Even though she could seem cold and distant, there was a fire beneath her chilly exterior that made him ache with need. One day, not far from now, she would not be able to deny him. He would have her, every inch of her body and soul would belong to him. But first, he had to find her.

He sighted again as he turned away from the window. He sat on her bed, looking at the locket in his hand. It was the locket he had stolen from her father's chambers. He was still ashamed of that, but so be it. The locket was made out of gold, with the Stafford crest engraved on the front. Inside, there was a painting of Isabella. She looked quite sad in it, like she knew what the future held for her and her family. He stuffed the locket back under his skirt, right next to his heart. It was an odd gesture for him, but he couldn't find a better place to keep it. Both his hate and love was mixed there, in a thick, deep fog of desire, loathing, passion and pure lust. It was what she meant to him in a nutshell.

Charles stretched his arm out behind him and grabbed one off her pillows. He let his long fingers caress the silk, pretending it was her skin. He pushed his face down into the pillow, and inhaled deeply. Her scent, a mix of woman, wine and roses, hung in the fabric, made him crush the fabric against him and rub his face in it. He felt her, he smelt her, he could almost taste her… He suddenly threw the pillow on the floor. A crooked smile graced his lips, and a loud laughter rang around the room. He threw his head back, and laughed. It was so messed up! Here he sat, a handsome, strong, wealthy young man, in favours of the king, smelling a woman's pillow! A woman that despised him! A woman that had run away from him!

The laughter died in his throat when a servant came in. "Your Grace!" Charles turned his head so fast that his neck tabbed. "Yes, boy?" The servant closed the door. "I have a message from Captain Riley, sir! He says his men in the north have found carriage tracks! They seem to be leading towards the York!" The Duke looked furious. "She is on her way North?!" The servant didn't answer, just bowed and the Duke waved his hand to make him leave.

Charles soon left the room himself, in deep thoughts. Up North, and then what? Scotland, maybe? That didn't make sense. She had no one that could help her in Scotland, no relatives she could take sanctuary with. If she came to the Scottish court, King James would only send her right home again. But if she didn't go to the court, where would she go? She surely wouldn't live in the countryside, would she? A woman alone, particularly a young, beautiful woman like her would be in grave danger out in the Scottish fields. And even though Isabella was stubborn, she was not stupid. Nor was she foolishly brave; she wouldn't expose herself to that kind off danger. No, it really didn't make any sense that she would flee to Scotland. Besides, it was more than 414 miles to Scottish boarder, how could she hope of getting that far? Surely he would find her long before that? Wouldn't he?

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Isabella's heart was stuck in her throat. She had never been afraid of the dark, not until now. The forest around her tingled with sounds, and less than half an hour ago, she was positive she had heard a wolf. The horse was anxious; she could feel the strong muscles tighten beneath her. She forced herself to breath normally, not to upset the horse even more. If she was to be sincere with herself, it was not the dark itself she was afraid of. Nor was it the wolfs, or the possibility that she could get attacked by robbers.

It was him. The thought of him, lurking in the shadows, like the beast she knew he could be, made her heart skip a beat. Her delicate hands held the reins so hard that her knuckles whitened. The warm summerevening surrounded her, filled with the smells of spruce and heated earth. She should find some shelter for the night, a farm, or maybe hide in a barn, if she couldn't find anything else. She had been riding since before noon, and every muscle in her body screamed for rest. But she knew that it probably was people in the area looking for her, and she would loose valuable time if she stopped to rest now. So, she bit her teeth together, and kept on.

The plan was to let her followers pursue the wagon tracks north, while she would go back, past London and to Dover, where she would try to get on a boat to Calais. She would have to hide well, only ride during evening and early morning, ride on small tracks and keep out of the main roads. It would take three days, perhaps even four, if she was ought to be careful. The most important thing was to get to Dover, as fast as she could, because when Charles found out, if he hadn't already, that she was not in the carriage, he would understand everything quite fast, and send orders to every port in the southeast of England to stop her. Going up north, to the port in Manchester was her alternative, but that was too big a risk. It was too far, and horse wouldn't manage it.

Isabella yawned, but shook the tiredness out of her head, and pushed her heels into the horse's flanks. She would have to keep a good speed this close to London anyway. Sleep was for free people without worries, and that didn't have to lurk around, frightened to the bone off their husbands to be. The dark forest engrossed her as she rode fast through the trees.

* * *

"Oh yes, your Grace, yes!"

He held on to her blond hair for dear life, and pumped her, again and again. "Come on now, sweetheart, say it!" "Your Grace, take me, take me hard!" Charles obeyed and pumped into her again. "I love you, I love you!" He stopped. Then he slid out of her before he slammed her against the wall, hard. "I told you; no love confessions. It is not like that!" The prostitute looked at him. "You are one freaky son of a.."

She didn't get to finish it, because he suddenly had his hand around her throat, and he started biting her breasts. She squeaked and tried to get away, but he held her pinned against the wall. "Scream for me, Isabella. Scream!" The hooker was now seriously frightened. She was used to kinky wishes, but this guy? Dressing her up in silk and velvet, just to rip it off again? To make her play a noblewoman called Isabella? And at the top of that; biting and beating her? Whoever this Isabella was, she felt really sorry for her. The Duke bit hard down on her nipple, and the blood started flowing. "Aaargh!" The prostitute screamed, she bucked and fought, but his gripe became tighter and tighter. Dark smudges covered most of her sight, and the Dukes voice slowly started to faint. "Scream, darling… Scream."

Charles threw the unconscious girl on the floor. Stupid whore, he thought. He buttoned up his pants, with his still bulging erection, making it almost painful to wear anything over it. It seemed like he wouldn't be capable of getting off with anyone, except Isabella. Just another reason to punish her when he got his hands in her. He couldn't wait to take her in a brutal grip, bruise her white skin, to make her tremble with fear. He threw his cape over his shoulders before he gave the girl a disgusted look and went out of the room he had rented.

The brothel-hostess stood outside the door, looking indifferent. "Your Grace. Was she to your liking?" Charles nodded shortly. The hostess looked around his shoulder, and saw the whore exposed on the carpet. She just raised her eyebrows, and took the little moneybag that the duke gave her. "This for her medical care." The hostess nodded. "I see. Thank you, your Grace." Charles went outside without another word, where a servant waited with his horse. As he strode the horse, Charles wondered what had made him wanting to pay for the prostitute's medical expenses. Perhaps it was the fact that the brothel was known forhosting several nobles and important men in general. Charles didn't want people at court to know that he had to beat up and fuck prostitutes with blonde hair and blue eyes just to get it off.

* * *

"Duchess Buckingham?"

One of her maids came into her room, looking frightened. The Duchess of Buckingham, Isabella's mother, rose to her feet. "What is it, child?" The young girl quivered a little. "The King is here." The King. What did he want? Did he have news about Isabella? "Let him, quickly!" The maid nodded, and a second later, the King arrived in her chamber. To her greatdespair, he looked triumphing. "Majesty." She didn't fall to her knees, but she made a deep courtesy.

"Duchess. I resume that you have heard about your daughter?" The Duchess nodded. "Yes, I have, your Majesty." The King looked curious at her. "And what are your feelings about her runaway?"The Duchess looked at him. "I am not pleased with her, your Majesty, but as your Majesty knows, she is a quite stubborn child. She has always done what pleased her self the most." The King sighted. "The Duke of Suffolk is very angry, Duchess. He loves your daughter severely, and yet, she does not return his love. Instead, she runs away, without permission from her King, her Queen, her fiancée or her mother. That is an act that cannot be tolerated. I was actually going to send her to the Tower for a few months once she got caught, but the Duke convinced me not to." The Duchess waited for him to continue, but there was only silence. "Thank you for your kindness towards my daughter, your Majesty." The King smiled a cold smile. " Oh, don't thank me, thank your future son-in-law."

The Duchess smiled sadly at the thought of Brandon. The man had come as a white knight, when their future seemed darkest. He had told her that he could get them back into the Kings good graces, and more, if she would only promise away her daughter Isabella to him. It seemed like a fantastic opportunity, a beautiful man like Brandon, with money, a dukedom and a close friendship with the King. The Duchess knew that he was the wary reason that her eldest daughter, Anna, was sent to a nunnery, but she couldn't care less. Anna was an emptyheaded girl, sweet and loving, but stupid and careless. She was best put away until she was to be married.

The Duchess would have been thrilled to marry Isabella off to Brandon, if there wasn't for one thing. She knew that Isabella loathed the man for what he had done to her sister. She also knew that Brandon was known as a player of dimensions. This was nothing that she wished for her child, married to a man she hated, like herself. But it was too good an opportunity to miss. The hate could be turned into love with help of time. And women had always had to endure cheating husbands. That was normal. Besides, Brandon was also known as a very skilled lover, who would give her daughter great pleasure. Yes, he was indeed a good match for Isabella. The Duchess had just hoped that she would agree.

Something she didn't. She screamed in rage, she threw objects around, she called both her mother and Brandon things that both of them were shocked that she knew. The sight of her child, so afraid and angered, saddened the Duchess. Isabella had to really hate the man. She really had to, because her daughter was one of the coldest and most controlled persons she knew. The Duchess had never seen her like this before.

Not even when her father was executed.

The King nodded again. "His Grace is riding out himself tomorrow morning at sunrise. You should be there to wish him good luck." With that, he left The Duchess to her own thoughts and worries.

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_As always, read and review:D_


	5. Chapter V

_Hey peeps:D only got three reviews on chapter 4, but they where good:D Thanks a bunch you guys:)_

_Okay this is chapter 5. We dont have so many chapters to go, maybe 3 or 4, perhaps 5. But whatever, enjoy:)

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_

Isabella hoisted her soar and tired body up from the hay she lay in. Next to her, the ranger wife that had taken her in last night was shaking her."Milady, milady! You must wake up!"The ranger wife gave her a bowl of porridge. Isabella gulped it down, for her stomach was clenching with hunger today, not just fear. "What time is it?" As far as she could see, the sun had yet to rise, but it was light and the air was warm. "Right before sun rises, milady. My son was getting the rabbit snares just a quarter of a mile from here, and he saw six men wearing clothes with the Kings symbol on by the river!" Isabella tried to seem indifferent.

"What does that got to do with me?" The ranger wife gave her a stated look. "My dear, did you really think that you could fool me that easily? A pilgrim? To where? His Holiness the Cod of Calais?" Isabella blushed, embarrassed over haven't made up a better story. "Look, milady, I don't care why you are on the run from whoever or whatever you are running from, but it seems like it's the big fellows, so I will give you some help: Do something about your skin and hair. That was the first that alerted me. Your skin is way to soft and smooth- looking. Your hair as well; you should rub some dirt in it. Make it look darker. But truth be told, none off this will help if you don't ride now! The men will search every house in the area, which always happens when they look for heretics or fugitives. Your horse is fed and well rested; my daughter is making it ready to ride now as we speak. I have given you some food; it's not much, but it was all I could offer. Now, come on!" Isabella was so touched that she froze for a few seconds. This woman, this poor commoner, helped her, without question, when turning her in could have gained her and her family enough money to feed well through the winter.

The lady called her. "Come on, milady!" Isabella stood up, her legs screamingly soar and her back stiff. She didn't give it a second's thought; she had to run again.

* * *

Charles walked back and fourth in front of the fireplace in his room. He was out of his mind furious now. Right before midnight, a messenger had brought him news that the Captain Riley's team had found the carriage. Without Isabella in it. Only her nurse and a young guard, who tried to give them some ridicules about the nurse going home to her village and that she didn't knew anything about the lady Stafford, were found. The soldiers had beat up both the guard and the nurse, which eventually made the old woman pass out. They had thrown her unconscious body down a slope, before they broke the guards legs and made him tell them were lady Stafford was.

Charles had jumped in his seat when he got the news. The guard didn't know the whole plan, but he told them, right before they slit his throat, that Isabella had taken one of the horses and fled when they where around ten miles from Whitehall. He had heard the nurse and lady Stafford mumble about Calais and her mother's relatives in France. She had ridden in the direction they came from, back to London.

Charles was fuming. That sneaky bitch! It was really clever, he had to admit that. Sending the carriage away so they would follow the tracks, while she could ride nice and easy back through the woods, sneak past London and board a boat at Dover that would take her to Calais and France. He knew her mother's cousin was French, but he lived in the countryside, not at the French court. So technically speaking, he could just wait until she arrived at this distant relative's estate, which was a count of some sort, and then seeking the opportunity there. But that wasn't sudden enough for him. He needed her, now. Therefore, he had sent orders to search the forest area around London and Dover, as well as orders to the port of Dover, for soldiers to thoroughly examine every boat going to Calais, both the boat itself and the passenger list, looking for Isabella. In few hours, he would ride out himself to Dover. He wanted to be the one to find her, or at least, be able to see her, being hunted down.

Her hands were dirty and her arms full of red cuts, but Isabella were contented and pleased with her self as she roasted the rabbit over the small, small fire. She didn't feel sorry; though it was the first thing she had ever killed. She left her pity back at Whitehall. Out here, everything was about surviving the next day. She had left the ranger wife's house three days ago, and in those three days, she had half sprained her ankle, almost been caught by two patrols, fallen off the horse twice and her cheek hurt from the forceful slap of a pine.

It was oblivious now that Charles had found the carriage, and that either the guard or her nurse had told on her. She guessed it had to be the guard, probably from some sort of torture. Her nurse, her beloved Elsebeth, would never have told on her. There were patrols everywhere, searching the forest for her. Right now, she was hiding beneath an old, fallen birch, trying to hide the smoke from the fire. She knew she was taking a giant risk, but she was so hungry! When she left the ranger house, she'd thought that she would just use another day or two to Dover; therefore, she had shared the rest of her food with the horse last night. How very foolish of her.

Because of the patrols, and they seemed to grow in numbers every day, she was forced to only ride a few kilometres at the time, before she had to hide again.

The sun was setting when she finally finished her meal. With that, she situated her sore arse on the horses back and carefully, very carefully, snuck her way out from the shadows. This night was even hotter than the three previous ones. Isabella felt like she would melt with her heavy, grey cloak on, but it worked well as camouflage, and besides, she would be thankful for its wool complexion later, when the night grew cold and damp.

She had done what the ranger wife had tipped her about; her hair was smudgy and grimy with grease and dirt, as was her skin. She smelled like a man, or at least, she thought so. The reek from her clothes was almost unbearable, but she had figured that maybe her smell could help her. She would be harder to detect if she smelled like someone who just rose from a night in the pig's house.

A sudden laughter made both her and the horse jump. It was a mans laughter, high and deep, and rude. Isabella stopped the horse. Her ears were frantically searching for more sounds, steps, a horse's neighs, anything that could lead to revealing their position.

There! A mans soft leather boot, only meters away. Isabella froze immediately, her hand seeking her knife. She could see the shadow of a man now, tall and broad, like Charles. Oh dear, dear God, please, no, please, was the only thought that went through Isabella's head right there and then.

The man stopped, she didn't know if he had seen her or not. Isabella could almost make out his clothes, and she saw his guard uniform. She waited, waited for him to say something, anything that could lead to action. She could take fighting and running, but this moment, the moment when she didn't know, was so bad that all she wanted was to slash her heels in to the horses flanks and set off.

The man cocked his head, and didn't seem quite sure of what to do. But, after five minutes or so, he shrugged his shoulder, and went on doing his duty; pissing.

Isabella let out a shaky breath. She couldn't believe she had been that lucky. Hopefully, the man was drunk or stupid, or both, and wouldn't tell his fellow comrades that he thought he saw someone in the forests. Even if he was incapable of doing the math, there were almost certain others among his peers that had something stirring in their heads and could figure it out.

Isabella patted the horse back, and they went on. The forest was thick with fog as they rode out of the densest clusters of trees. Out here, she could smell Dover; she was not far from it now, maybe an hour or so of hard riding. But that was if she were to take the main road. Which she couldn't. Therefore, she turned the horse and rode straight in to the woods again, back to the dark, back to the fog, back to fear, back to being a prey.

* * *

Charles sat outside his tent, and looked at the fire. Every now and then, a servant would come up to him and ask him if he wanted anything, which he always reclined. He just wanted to be left alone, so he could sit and try to manipulate the flames in to Isabella's features. Oh, what a woman! Last night, he had a dream about her, again. She was taunting him, poking him in the ribs, laughing in his face, calling him a pathetic excuse for a man, who couldn't even hold on to a weak woman. He tried to grab her, but every time he managed to hold on to a piece of her, she vanished like smoke. He had woke up, dreaded in sweat, shaking and cursing her to the depths of hell, and with what seemed to be an everlasting erection.

His mind wandered. He thought of Isabella's mother, the Dowager Duchess of Buckingham, who had waved him goodbye two days ago. He thought of how her eyes had had a glint of pure hatred when she bid him farewell and good luck. Yeah right, that old bint wished him luck bringing her youngest daughter in to grave misery.

Charles chuckled, twice. Well, well, there were seven patrols along the line of London, four in the woods past London (where he was currently were), four in the woods north, and three patrols in Dover, controlling every ship that went to France. Isabella had to be almost invisible to escape him now.

* * *

Lieutenant Marsh was furious at his men. Not only had they gone two days without finding even a small track of a horse other than their own or a trace of the runaway lady, but also now three of them had gotten in to a fight over something as stupid as a comment about how loose the women at court were. One of the guards, who had a wife who was known to have slept around a lot, quickly raised the women's defence. And that was how it started.

The lieutenant rubbed his forehead while they trotted through the woods. He just couldn't understand it. Why was this woman so hard to find? Was she a witch or something? That might explain why she had possessed the Duke so much. They had been searching every square of the area south and north of London, with nothing as the prize. Oh, what wouldn't he give to be the one to find the lady Stafford! The Duke would honour him more than he could ever have imagined! Gold, land, promotions..

One of the junior officers in the group of 25 men rode up to his side. "Captain," he said, with a low voice. "I think there is someone behind of us. I am almost certain that I heard a horse neigh, just two minutes ago." Lieutenant Marsh made concentrated his ears. Yes, right, there it was. A sound of a horse, a small one, but fast. Probably a mare. He gave the junior officer a sly look. "Ride on, but slowly. If we are lucky, it's her. I'll take Hampstead, Williamson and Pacer with me, and see if we can ambush her." The junior officer nodded, while the lieutenant called for his men. They lurked their way out of the group, and snuck in amongst the threes.

The shadows made everything go greyish or dark green, but the lieutenant could clearly make out the outline of a small, cloaked figure right ahead of them. The person was very careful, as was the horse. They went on like they were on needles, and the hooded figure seemed extremely nervous. The lieutenant almost laughed. This was too easy. They were only meters away now. A little further, and they could easily hem the person and find out if it truly was their prey.

* * *

"Stop right there, milady!" Isabella froze. Oh, no. Oh god, no. Why hadn't she just fled when she heard the patrol? Why hadn't she just taken the risk of them hearing her while the horse galloped? They would have heard her, but at least, she would have had a chance to escape! Son of bitch!

Isabella pulled the hood further down her face. There were two men, standing in front of her, while she could hear two more approach her from the back. She was ringed in. The with lieutenant marks on his chest, spoke again. "Show your face, milady!" Isabella shook her head. "Pardon my rudeness, sir, but I am not a lady. I am not even a woman. I am just an outcast, a man marked by the plague and thrown out of my home."

The lieutenant cocked his head. "Is that so? Well, let us see your face then, lad!" Isabella's hand went to the hilt of her knife. "Please, good, good sir, my face is a horrid mask of scars and leaking ulcers, don't let me wound your eyes with my gruesome façade!" The lieutenant laughed. "Oh come on, we are not a bunch of court ladies! Take of your hood, man, now!" Isabella remained silent. "Now, wont you? Okay, if you want it done the hard way.. Williamson, Pacer! Take him down and show us the terrible face he is complaining about."

Isabella's right hand twitched. She had to hurt them. Oh Holy Virgin, please forgive for what I must do. She waited. The two men jumped down, and came to towards her. She steeled her self. And when the first man went for her leg, she stabbed his arm, hard. He screamed, which alerted the other men. The other man, grabbed her foot, but she kicked him the chest and he fell to the ground. The man she had stabbed, tried to grab her again, and this time, he got a piece of her cloak, and pulled it of her head.

Even in this darkness, you couldn't help seeing her noble features, her golden hair shining like a halo.

"Its her!" the lieutenant screamed. "I command you, milady, stay still!" But Isabella was now desperate. She buried her heels in the horse's flanks, which made it jump up, wave its legs in the air, and set it off in to the night. The air burned her cheeks, she was cold sweating, and she had lost her knife.

She heard other horses, other men shouting to each other. They seemed to be a dozen, or more. How was she to escape this? The horse sped up at her command, and they were soon out in the fields before Dover. She turned around, to see at least twenty men storm out of the woods, all on horseback.

On her right side, four men came out of the woods, screaming for her to stop. But she wouldn't. She would not get caught now, not so close. She bowed her back, making her self more and more aerodynamic, and the horse sped up again. She had picked this horse for a reason. It was her own horse, her name was Tatou. A French breed Arabian Fuchs, mahogany coloured fur with white socks and noble features. An intelligent animal, and fast as a lightning. She wasn't particularly sustainable, though, which could be fatal in times like this. Isabella didn't have a plan, she just kept on and on, she had to get away! She never wanted to go back to him, but if she had to, she was prepared to give them one hell of a fight. She would never go freely. Never.

Tatou suddenly bucked and let out a heart-wrenching scream. Isabella was thrown off, but luckily, she did not break anything. Her head got a smash, though, and her world spun around. Isabella could see Tatou kick her leg around and making painful noises, but she couldn't understand what it was, until she saw the arrow poking out of her beloved horses left thigh. Isabella felt the fury bubble up in her dizzy head.

"Animals", she grunted, while she stumbled towards Tatou. She tried to calm the mare the down, tried to pet her mule, tried to stay focused. But nothing worked. Darkness was consuming her, her eyes blurry. She couldn't see properly, which scared her immensely. No, no, stay awake, was the last thought that went through her mind before she fell into a pair of strong arms.

* * *

"Charles! Your Grace!" Charles woke from the uncomfortable sleep he was currently stated in. He had fallen asleep by the fire, cradled like a child, dreaming of her again. Charles could see the sun was about to break, so at least he had had the chance to gain some sleep. His friend, Anthony Knivert, came rushing towards him.

"Charles! They have her! They have found her!" His veins and hart suddenly burst into life. Was it possible? Had they found her? He rose up and shook Anthony's shoulders. "Are you sure? Completely sure?" Anthony nodded like crazy. "The team led by lieutenant Marsh chased her over the fields, not even a fifteen minutes away from here! They managed to shoot her horse in the leg, so she was cast off!" At that point, Charles suddenly went grave.

"Cast off? Is she well? Did she take any damage from the fall?" Anthony shook his head at that. "No damage at all. The lad they sent, says she is more than fine, that they even had to restrain her from running!" Charles didn't laugh. He didn't even smile. All he could think of, was her face, angered, probably wet with tears, tears that he had caused. It gave him a good feeling to think about it, that he could make her tear up like that.

He gave Anthony a short nod. "Get our horses, get Compton, and send a message to his Majesty. We will be coming home, triumphal, within the week!".

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_As always, R&R:D_


	6. Chapter VI

_Hey people! Guess what?! I just found that I got a place in my schools exchange program, so I am leaving in september to live in York in England:D Sadly, I have heard that the schoolwork and the social life makes little time for spare time, so I am going to try to finish this story before I leave, which is september 7th. Therefore, the chapter will come out much faster than they have until now._

_So, this is the finale reunion between Charles and Isabella. I struggled a bit with this one, because I didnt know how much tension to put in. Put whateer, enjoy:D_

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"Fuck!" Isabella swore under her breath when the sharp blade from the knife cut her hand for the fourth time. The knife came with a hidden blade, and she had kept tied to her inner thigh, just in case. Luckily, her captors had not found it; she knew they were too afraid of Charles to search her whole body when they checked her for weapons. That was probably the reason that she wasn't raped yet to.

Indeed, she was a noble, but she doubted that the King would care if the soldiers had some fun with her. Charles on the other hand..

Isabella bit her lip as the knife cut her thumb. Why wouldn't the Goddamn rope just cut?! Charles could be here any minute; she had to get loose.

Since she had woken up around a half hour ago, she had not cried a single drop, only screamed in frustration. Until she remembered the knife in her tights. Right before she was about to take it up, the lieutenant that had captured her, came. He had told her, with a smirk on his face, that he had sent a messenger to his Grace the Duke, and that he would arrive shortly in the camp to take her home.

She had just glared at him, and only asked what time it was. He told her that is was around five in the morning, and that she had been unconscious for almost three hours. "Three hours? But why hasn't the Duke been summoned before?" she asked, scared that the men might have done something to her while she was unconscious.

The lieutenant smirked. "You are quite enjoyable to watch sleeping, you know. I envy the Duke that." Isabella looked at him with disgust, while he went laughing out of her tent.

There! The rope finally gave up, and she was free. She had just gotten her hands out of it, before someone stepped in to the tent. Isabella sat still as a rock, with her hands still on her back, when the man, smelling like a sac of vine, came unsteady against her. " Such a pretty girl.."

His voice was smudgy, his eyes didn't entirely focus. "So white skin, so blo..(burp).. eh golden hair.." Isabella shrunk away from him, trying to get away, but the man grabbed a large amount of her hair and dragged her back. She tried to scream, but his hand then covered her mouth.

" Shh.. you have to be a good girl for me now, don't scream.." His putrid breath smacked her like a tree branch when he turned her around to face him, and she swore she would faint again if he didn't close he mouth soon. Which he did. Over her breasts. Isabella used that moment to grab his shoulders and bring her knee up in his belly.

The guard sunk together, but instead of falling backwards, he fell over her, trapping her to ground. "You bit..(burp).. you fucking, teasing bitch.." Isabella pushed and hit the man's back, put he grabbed he wrists and help them over her head. "Hey, how did you get lo.."

Isabella knocked the man on the forehead with her own, which made her head spin ruthlessly, but she didn't care. With a strength purely made out of adrenalin, she grasped the man's arms and pulled him off of her. He made a load groan and looked at her pleadingly, but she kicked him in stomach with her steel tipped boot. It was really satisfying, feeling the guard's hard and trained abdomen sink together by her doing.

She then made a run for the gap in the tent. She darted out, and slipped in the mud in front. Isabella slid several meters before she gained control over her limbs again. Out of breath from the adrenalin shock, with hair in her eyes and a new wave of adrenalin washing over her, she didn't see the four men in front of her. She only looked up when she bumped in to the midst of them. And drew a sickened and horrified breath.

"Good morning, Isabella. Anxious to see me, are we?" Charles said, and squeezed her wrists forcefully.

* * *

The Dowager Duchess of Buckingham hadn't slept well the last few days. The few hours she had rested, her dreams were full of Isabella. Her daughter crying, pleading with her mother to help her, to rescue her. And her future-son-in-law, Brandon, laughing at her daughter, and pulling her away from her mothers embrace.

The Duchess had woken up screaming, calling Isabella's name, clutching the sheets in remorse and crying bitter tears of anger. Her child, her dear, precious child, in the hands of a sociopath like Charles Brandon. She had come to this conclusion; there could be no other. Isabella, a reasonable, clear headed girl, who always preferred knowledge and sensibility rather than playing with dolls and having dreams of romance, she would never have declined a offer that so practical, so extremely reasonable.

No, there had to be something seriously wrong with the Duke of Suffolk for her daughter to do something so extreme as running away from court. They hadn't heard a word from Brandon since he and his team rode out from Whitehall three days ago.

Isabella had been gone for five days, and she was still not been caught. In the depths of her mind, the Duchess applauded her daughter. She had outsmarted almost 300 men in the hunt for her, her, a girl of mere 17 with one horse and her brain. The Duchess was so proud of having fostered such a remarkable woman. Isabella didn't have it from her parents, that was for sure.

The Duchess her self was no fool, indeed, she was quite smart, but her father.. A brute, a piece of muscle before brain, a man who had rather beat his wife up, than listened to her advises. Once when they were young, the Duchess had tried to escape her husband to, but that was in a smaller state. She had ran away from Edward on their wedding night, hiding beneath the bed.

Edward had pulled her out from beneath it, and raped her while she clutched to the bedposts, praying to the Virgin that she would make it stop, make the pain go away.

It didn't.

She had been 18 years old, Edward 22. Much like Isabella and Brandon now, except that Brandon was 23, while Isabella turned 18 in a few, short months.

The Duchess some times wished that she had had the courage to ask for a divorce, but no. All the courage that Isabella possessed was from her father. That was the only quality the Duchess had ever admired about him.

Trough almost 20 years of marriage, she had never grown loving feelings towards him. Only an indifference that made her capable of taking his so called love making at the middle of the night, his rough behavior and the beatings he gave her so often. She took every thing he gave, as long as he kept away from the children.

The Duchess had not been sad when her husband was executed. She cried one tear, out of necessity, and then she had moved on to think about how she was going to get her family to ever showing their faces in the public again. That was when Brandon came as a guardian angel. Even the Duchess, who was cynical and huffed at the women at court who swooned over Mr. Brandon, she melted to the flour at the man's charm and good looks.

But now she knew better. And now, she had driven her daughter in to being a prey, a sheer, precious deer, which never could rest or relax again. No, that was not true. Her daughter was not something as fragile as a deer. She was rather a lynx, a _gracieux _and alerted wildcat, calculating and patient.

The Duchess was sitting by her desk, writing a letter to her cousin, the Countess of Montbrigade and Aledè. It was still early in the morning; the sun was not up yet. She wondered what Isabella was doing. Was she sleeping beneath a tree? Had some good commoners had the heart to take her in? Or was she dead, raped and killed by a street robber?

The last thought made her eyes tear up, and she pushed it away. Isabella was a fighter; she would stand through anything.

At least, the Duchess prayed she would do.

* * *

Isabella blinked. This could not be happening. This was not right. This was not fair! After all her hard work, the running, the hiding, the hunger, was this it? Had she just gone trough all of that just to be captured again?

No sir!

Charles smirked at her. "Well, darling? No sarcastic comment? No snatchy comeback?" Isabella looked at him. She knew that Charles had hurt his toe badly when she had smacked door in front of him last week. Hopefully, that could help her.

Isabella smirked back. "Not today, Brandon!" And then she stomped his left foot with all her might. Charles immediately let go of her, which she used as an opportunity to lope for her life. Compton made a go for her arm, but she snatched it away and avoided the lieutenant's extended leg. Then she ran towards the field.

"Isabella! You stop right there! Come back!" Charles's voice was not far behind her, and she could hear his friends coming after her. Guards emerged from every corner, and she sped up remarkably. Her breath hitched in her throat, and she gulped down too large amounts of air. Her thighs were burning, she couldn't see straight from exhaustion and fear, her mind was only set on one thing; keep going.

* * *

Charles swore and jumped around on one foot, cursing the wicked bitch. The ecstatic joy he had felt when he had her in his arms, was gone now. Only a volcanic rage, that threatened to consume him, remained. He turned away from her running form, and barked an order.

"Stand still! I will catch her!" Charles grabbed a horse nearby, and jumped on it. He muttered curses under his breath when the wounded toe. If it got infected, she was going to get it. Charles pulled the reins so the horse screamed in protest, and quickly pursued his runaway bride.

* * *

Isabella struggled her way towards the forest. If she just got in behind the thick branches and the dark shadows, she could hide, or at least, get a few minutes lead. It was hard pursuing someone in the thick forest, and on a horse was even worse.

Therefore, Isabella fought her now quickly sinking energy level, and kept on.

But suddenly, she became aware that she didn't hear any footsteps, nor any shouting or anything that meant that she pursued. She slowly stopped up, and turned around. She regretted it at once.

The reason why no one was pursuing her, was that a single chevalier was approaching her with disturbingly rapid speed. It was Charles. Oh dear God. Isabella turned around and sprinted towards the woods, but she was almost out of breath, and it went so slowly, so slowly. She could almost feel the horse's breath down her neck.

Her mind raced, trying to find a solution, a way out, but nothing came. Nothing. For once, her brain and knowledge couldn't help her. This was a pure physical test. And unfortunately, except for a good health, she was not the superior this time.

So then what? Was she just going to give up? Isabella knew the answer. She had never backed down from anything, and she hated loosing.

But if Charles were to win this time, he was going to fight hard for the victory.

* * *

Charles came up closely now. He could almost smell his conquest's adrenalin. He could easily have just ridden up by her side and snatched her up, but that wasn't fun. When he was this close to win, he might as well have some fun. Charles slowed down as came closer; the horse went from gallop to trotting. He heard Isabella's breath, and couldn't resist a little comment.

"You know darling, at our wedding night, I am going to drive you much harder than I have done now. You should do something about your breath control, or you are going to pass out after the first seven times!"

Then, he rode around her. Isabella saw the horse and tried to turn around, but he was quicker. He rode up her side, and stopped her again. "Get away from me, you son of a bitch!" Isabella was furious. How he dared to amuse himself on her beckoning!

Charles just laughed. "So feisty! I love that about you! Always ready to fight, never giving up!" Isabella snarled at him. "Go to hell, Brandon!"

Charles suddenly jumped off the horse. He had backed Isabella in to a small cluster of trees, away from the rest of the forest. Isabella had just discovered this, and was on her way to climb up one of the trees.

Charles sighted impatiently. "I don't think so, my dear!" He quickly finished tying the horse to a branch, before he reached up and grabbed her calve. "Let go of me!"

Isabella was desperate. Not only was she too exhausted to give a good fight right now, but also she was sure that the branch she was currently clutching to was going to break very soon.

"Come here, you bloody wench!" With that, Charles pulled her leg with all his weight, which made the branch break. Isabella fell like a seasoned fruit in to his arms. Except, a seasoned pear wouldn't oppose as much a challenge to devour as Isabella.

As soon as she was in his arms, Charles pushed Isabella in to the tree. She fought and screamed and kicked and pulled, but he managed to capture her arms by her sides. " Gods, woman, you are going to be the death of me!" Charles panted as she continued to wriggle against him.

"I really, really hope so!" Isabella was so angered, so frustrated that tears had started to collect in her eyes. Charles watched her carefully. "That's right, cry for me, Isabella. Cry your eyes out over me, but remember, no one cares."

Isabella looked defiantly at him. " I will never cry a single drop over you. Never! You are not worthy of my tears!"

Charles growled and squeezed her wrist until she yelped. "Not worthy? NOT WORTHY OF YOUR FUCKING TEARS?!"

Isabella continued to look boldly in to his eyes. "That's right, peasant! You are not worthy of my time, my joy, my sadness, my tears. Nor are you worthy of my words, my voice, my stare, the mere presence of my being! You are NOT worthy me!"

Isabella had looked him in the eyes all the while she insulted him, but if she thought that it would work as a distraction, she was sadly wrong.

Charles took a hold of her neck, and lifted Isabella off the ground, to his eye level. Isabella clutched his hand, trying to breath. Charles leant forward and laid his mouth to her ear.

"Listen closely, bint. The only reason you and that traitorous bitch you call mother is not rotting in a dungeon or lying on the executioner's block right now, is because of I would be a little more grateful if I were you, understand, sweetheart?" Isabella looked at him as much defiance she could with no air in her lungs, and spat him right in the face.

Charles slowly placed her back on the ground, before he looked at her, with murder in his eyes. "You stupid cow."

He raised his arm, and before she saw it coming, he had slapped her, on the right cheek. The force of the blow made her fall to the ground, but he wouldn't let her rest.

Charles threw himself on top of Isabella, pinning her down while he grasped her face and kissed her. The salvation he felt when he bit her lip and forced her to open for him, made his core ache for her. Even in this state, Isabella was the most attractive woman he had ever had beneath him. Her hair was matted, her skin smudgy, but her eyes glowed with a spirit that made him shudder with need.

Isabella wriggled beneath him, clawing at his face, but again, muscle triumphed over brain. Charles's kiss wad demanding, rough, bloody. Her blood. He had bit right through her lip, and her blood tasted like iron. She hurled into his mouth, and he pulled away. The look in his eyes was almost tender, he genuinely looked concerned. But then, his expression turned in to a malevolent grin.

Charles raised one hand, and brushed two fingers along the red mark on Isabella's cheek. "This is the only time I will ever hit you. I swear." Her mouth turned in to a disgusted pout, and he couldn't help but laugh. She looked so amazingly beautiful; with her white skin, covered in her own blood, and her eyes, so ablaze with anger. There was no trace of fear, not even a little spark of despair. Only pure hatred and a lust to kill.

Charles pulled himself of the ground, still holding on to her wrists. Isabella tried to wrench them away from him, but he continued to pull her against the horse. She threw herself on the ground, only to be hauled back on her feet. "You fucking cunt! I am going to kill you! Let me go!" Charles only rolled his eyes. "Scream all you want, dearest, nobody cares!"

Isabella whimpered when her foot slipped in the grass and hit a rock. She stumbled and he caught her in his arms. "So much for the grace of nobility.."

Charles's mocking voice made her even angrier. "Let go off me! I can walk myself, thank you very much!"

Charles chuckled. "Sorry if I don't have much faith in you right now, Bella."

The nickname her mother had given her, rung through her head, and before she knew it, she had curled her fists and started banging on Charles's chest with them. "How dare you call me that?! Never, ever call me that again! I hate you! Why can't you just leave me alone! I hate you! I hate you!"

Her voice fainted as the tantrum wore off, and she fell to her knees. She clutched his robes, sobbed uncontrollably, but not a single tear trickled from her eyes. All Isabella could do, was grasping his clothes with the rest of her strength, pray he would might see reason, that he might understand, though she didn't believe it could happen.

She was right.

Charles just stood there, watching his fiancée announcing her hatred for him. A smile, a real, genuine smile graced his features. So he wasn't worthy her, huh? So why did he cause her to break down like this? This was what he wanted, he wanted her to notice him, to be her number one, on either side of her emotional scale, which one didn't matter. And clearly, he had made it.

He looked down on her again, and lifted her trembling chin to meet him, face to face. "As long as I am first, it doesn't matter how you feel about me."

* * *

_What do you think? R&R please:)_


	7. Chapter VII

_hey guys:D sorry its taken forever to update, but my hostfamily in England doesnt have internett:( thats why its gonna take some time to update from to time. But whatever, we closing in on the wedding, and the time is running out!!!_

* * *

Isabella just stared at Charles. Her eyes was brimmed with tears, her heart felt like it was about to burst though her chest. The devilish smile had appeared on his face sickened her to her very soul.

The smooth, silky voice that had just told her that he didn't cared if she hated him or not, just as long he was her number one, made chills run down her spine. Isabella wished so bad that she could just raise herself, look him right in the eyes and tell him calmly that he meant nothing to her.

But she was too bad an actress. He would see it in her eyes; hear it by the tone of her voice. She wouldn't be able to hide her malice towards him. And for the first time ever, she hated herself for hating him; because it gave him so much pleasure.

Isabella felt disgusted by her own thoughts; she didn't only detest him and wanted be as far away from him as possible; she really loathed him! She wanted him to be in pain, to die! The thoughts that went through her head made her clutch his robes even harder. Oh, how she hated him!

Charles smiled and continued to hold her quivering jaw. He felt the silken skin there, the sharp angle of her bone structure. So pretty, he thought. So very, very beautiful. And all his.

He enjoyed the hateful stare she gave him, the feeling of her small fists tightening around his robes. She still looked defiant, but she had not let tears fall yet. That annoyed him immensely.

"Why won't you cry, Isabella?" His words were soft spoken, but there was a dagger behind the velvet.

Isabella blinked her tears away. "As I said, Charles, you are not worthy them." Her voice was calm, collected. But Charles was no fool, and he knew that the only reason she had not yet gutted him, was because she was thinking. He felt the rage starting to consume him again, but he managed to choke it down. Now was not the time.

Charles grasped Isabella's wrists gently, but firm, and pried them away from his robes. He then bent down and looked her in the eyes. "Will you go willingly this time? Or do I have to drag you with me like a savage?"

The look on her face gave him the answer. "Well, well. A little pain might make you a bit more submissive."

And before Isabella could do anything, he had lifted her up on his shoulder, and carried her towards the horse. Isabella didn't have any more voice to yell with, her limbs felt like water. Yet she tried to bang her fists at his back, to kick his face, but Charles just held on to her more securely.

Her head was spinning again, and she felt that she had to vomit.

"Charles", she said weakly. Charles replied in a very annoyed voice. "I don't care what you have to say right now, Bella. I just want to get back.." "But Charles, I have to.."

Charles slapped her thigh once. "Don't play your tricks on me, lady! Don't go there." Isabella hurled. "I really have to..

" You really don't want to go there, Isabella! I am pist off enough as it is!" Isabella rolled her eyes. Well, to hell with his cloak then! She had tried to warn him!

Charles suddenly felt spasms trough Isabella's body, and then a nauseating sound of something sploshy hitting the ground. And his cloak suddenly felt warm and wet on his back. Isabella hurled again, and more vomit covered his cloak.

"Son of a..!" Charles threw Isabella on the ground, where she curled together on all four and emptied her stomach once again. Charles took of his cloak, and then bent down next to Isabella. He stroked her back, and patted her hair away from her face.

"Isabella? Are you.." Isabella lashed her arm out in a pathetic try of slapping him. "No! Go away!" Charles chuckled a little. "Are you finished?"

The answer came quickly, when Isabella's gut content covered the ground again.

Isabella ached her back. Her throat felt like sand, and she had a foul taste of vinegar on her tongue. Her head wasn't spinning anymore, but she felt so weak, so tired. She didn't even take notice when Charles asked her if she was ready to go. She just looked sourly on him.

Charles slowly raised her from the ground, and supported her by her waist. Isabella wanted so badly to just stomp his foot and run, by she knew that right now, she was in no state to fight him. Or anyone else for that matter.

If she wanted to escape, she had to be smart. If she went with Charles now, and faked her exhaustion to a certain amount, maybe Charles would slack on the guards, and maybe, MAYBE, she could be free again. All she needed was a weapon and a horse.

Charles lifted Isabella up, and sat her on the horse. Then he swung himself up. He grasped her waist hard with one hand, and took the reins with other. Isabella didn't lean in to him, but she didn't fight him either.

"Why aren't you fighting me?" he asked, generally confused. Isabella turned slightly around, just so he could see the hurt in her face. "What good would that do? Making me fall of the horse at speed and break my neck?"

Charles cocked his brow, but decided to leave it with that. He could bust her move later, now they had to get back to the camp.

* * *

Isabella could hear the men's laughter when they closed up to the tents. Compton and Knivert stood at the front, with wide smirks on their faces. Arses, Isabella thought when Charles stopped the horse and Compton took the reins.

"Well, well, you little wildcat, finally. You have no idea how we have had to endure Charles's mood while you where on your little trip!" They all laughed, while Charles lifted her of the horse. Isabella fumed silently. No one talked to her like that! Even in her condition, she managed to kick Compton's knee, which made him fall to the ground.

"Shut up, peasant! Show some respect for your superiors!" Charles squeezed Isabella's arm and pulled her to him again. "Wildcat indeed" he mumbled while he pushed her in direction to the tent.

Behind them Compton was hoisting himself up from the mud, and Knivert was laughing even harder.

Charles shoved Isabella inside the tent, before he went in himself and closed the gap. Then he turned to her. "Lay down, please."

His gentle tone surprised her, but it didn't fool Isabella. "Why? So it will be easier for you to pounce on me?" Her voice was everything but gentle, and she felt blissful by the sight of him shrinking at her tone.

Charles sighted and cocked his eyebrow. "No, so I can examine your wounds, and heel them if necessary." Why did everything have to be so difficult with her? Even when he tried to be nice to her, she was hostile, nasty and spiteful. Not that he blamed her.

"Please lay down, Isabella. I really don't want to force you."

Isabella snorted. "Yeah right! I can see it in your eyes, Brandon, you want nothing else than to rip off my clothes, force me to the ground and then shove that pathetic excuse for a manhood in to my tight, wet cavern! Isn't that right, _darling_?"

She spat the last word like venom. Isabella knew she was playing fire and she would get burned, but she didn't care. It gave her such a satisfying feeling to see Charles clenching and unclenching his fists.

"Lay down, Isabella. Now." Charles spoke out through gritting teeth, trying his best to repress his anger. Isabella's mocking voice made way right through to his heart, and pierced it. She was right, she was so very right.

"Didn't you hear me, Brandon? Why so silent? You know that the one who stays silent, agrees? So then I am right, aren't I? All you want to do is to sh.."

He couldn't take any more. He tackled her from the front and pressed her down towards the earth. Charles grabbed Isabella's chin, and his fingers dug so hard in to the skin that he could feel bones protesting.

His other hand found her left wrist and forced in down, while he looked at her with mad eyes. "And what if I did? What would you do, huh? WHAT WOULD YOU DO IF I DID EXATLY WHAT YOU SAID NOW?"

Isabella tried to look away, but he held her chin even harder. "Answer me, Isabella! What would you do?"

Isabella thought about for about two seconds. And then she answered. "I would kick and scream and bite and fight you until both you and I were bloody and broken. And then I would kill you, if I could."

Her words came out cold and horse. Charles felt them rip through the tender layer of care he had put together in front of his real feelings for her sake. Well, if she wanted it that way, who was he to disobey her?

He smirked cruelly. "Oh really? Would you try and kill me?" Isabella nodded, looking him right in the face. Charles smirked wider. "Would you still kill me if I did this?" He released her face, and instead he brought his hand down to her mound. His hand cupped her before bringing his thumb up to the spot he knew drove women wild.

Isabella gasped when his hand brushed her sweet spot. "No, no, this is not real, no" was running through her head. She tried to block out the pleasure she felt by his hand, by she couldn't help but letting out a small pant when his hand went to the top of her tights. She heard Charles chuckle a little, and that brought her back to reality. "What are you doing, you, you.."

"Shush, love." Brandon's voice was low and warm, though filled with cruel laughter. His hand worked its way down beneath her tights, down towards her secret centre, and finally, settled between her curls.

Isabella couldn't breath, she couldn't think! Brandon played her traitorous body like an instrument, knowing exactly were to pressure and where to not. It felt so good to have his hand down there, but it was so wrong! Which were going to win this time? Her conscious or her pleasure?

Not a very difficult question.

"Let go of me, Brandon! I am not some whore you can use! Go and suck Knivert off or something, and leave me alone!"

Charles growled deep in his throat, and was in her face at the very moment. "Firstly, I know you are not a whore, Isabella, and secondly, do you really want me to stop?" Charles cupped her mound tightly at the last word, and smiled when he saw how her back ached and her pout made a perfect o. He thought he had victory within hand, when Isabella's free hand came up and slapped him hard.

Isabella grabbed Charles's throat tight whit her free hand and squeezed. "I said, let go of me!" She tried to hold on and squeezed even harder, but Charles only laughed and removed her hand easily. "Wildcat indeed! Oh, how I love you like this!" Isabella sneered at him. She noticed that he said he loved her like this, not that he loved her.

Charles took a piece of rope on the floor and tied her hands together above her head. "There. And where were we before you decided to make things hard? Oh yes", he said and smirked. He moved closer and closer to her face while his hands roamed her body slowly. He caressed the outer lines of her breasts, the trades of her ribcage. He made circles on her thighs, he squeezed her knees gently, he tickled her feet slightly.

While Charles's hands made Isabella's body tingle with delight and resentment, his mouth was inching in on hers. Isabella couldn't help it; she had to admire his face. It really was the face of an angel, a devilish angel at that. His perfectly arched forehead made a beautiful frame for his dark, sculptured eyebrows and piercing, blue eyes. The sharp angle of his jaw made his almost girl like, pink lips look even more sensual. His high cheekbones could have belonged to the Greek god Adonis. His skin looked like polished marble, and the smell of him; oh how was she not to gawk at him! His physical appearance at least, it was the personality she couldn't stand.

Charles took her face in his hands when their noses touched. He let the tip of his nose caress the lines of her face, drawing in her scent with every breath. God, how he wanted her. But he had promised himself that he would wait to their wedding night. Then he would make her pay for all the pain she had caused him. Oh, he couldn't wait.

But the wedding was still two weeks ahead, and he had to have a taste of her, or else he would go mad, he knew that.

Charles inched in on Isabella's lips, carefully touching them. He slid his own lips against hers, feeling the small wound he had made earlier, before he slipped his tongue out and licked it. It was still a bit salty, but there was no blood.

Beneath him, Isabella whimpered slightly, it hurt when he touched her wound. Not only the fact that it hurt physically, but the thought of him having something as personal as her blood inside him, made her want to vomit again. She held it down, though, and closed her eyes.

Immediately, Charles held her jaw again. "Don't dare close your eyes on me, girl. I don't want you picturing someone else. I am the only one you're allowed to have entering your mind. I want you to look at me all the time; I want you to know that it is me that is doing this to you. You belong to me. Got that straight?"

And before Isabella could answer something that probably would have been spiteful, he kissed her.

The kiss was hard, but tender. Forceful, yet weak. Craving, yearning, hateful, loving. Isabella opened her mouth on instinct, and she couldn't stop his tongue from invading her mouth completely. His lips were so soft, but his teeth bit her own lips. She yelped in to his mouth, and bit hard down on his tongue. He didn't seem to care, only pinched her thigh as his hands moved down her body.

His arm went around her body, crushing her in to his own body. His other hand moved down her tights, finding her sweet spot fast and started rubbing her. Isabella gasped loudly, and Charles pulled away from her. He looked at her face he continued to rub her. He smiled cruelly when he removed his hand, and her face expressed such a disappointment.

Charles pulled her tights down her legs, kissing the bare skin that was revealed. Isabella pulled at her restraints, tried to buck her body away from him, but that only helped him getting her tights off of her. When he saw that she had nothing under, he smiled even wider.

"My precious, little cunt. I will respect your so-called virginity until our wedding night, but that doesn't mean I can not do other things."

Isabella's eyes widened in fear and anticipation. Oh God, was he going to do it?

Charles kissed each and every one of her toes, before moving up her calves. He licked the inside of her knees, before making his way up her thigh.

His hands continued to touch her gently through her dirty shirt, every now and then pinching her nipples. It made her abdomen pool, to her great horror. No, why was she reacting like this? This was so unfair! Her mind and soul hated him with all her might, why couldn't her body do the same?

Charles stopped right at the end of her thigh. He carefully played with her folds with his fingers, before inserting one finger in to her wet pussy. "So wet, darling.. And here I thought you didn't like me." Charles rolled finger around inside her, ever so often touching the spot that made her jump. Then he took two fingers, they almost didn't fit in her tight, tight channel. Isabella arched her back, her fingers clenching and unclenching.

Charles smirked up at her, smiling with lidded eyes. "Beg me." Isabella looked shocked at him. "What?"

Charles came up again, looking her straight in the eyes. "Beg me to lick that sweet, sweet cunt of yours. Beg me to make you feel greater pleasure then ever before. Beg me, Isabella."

Isabella shook her head. "Never! It will be a freezing day in.. oh!" Charles had taken his head down, and sucked her nub in between his teeth. Isabella trashed her head back and fourth, trying to block out the pleasure. It felt so good; he knew exactly what he was doing. He switched between long, cat like strokes and sucking at her nub. Isabella felt the tight pressure of delight far down in her stomach and thighs; it gave her promises of great pleasure to come.

Just before she thought her world was about to explode, he stopped. Isabella looked almost desperate at him, her eyes wild. "Do you want me to continue?" Charles's voice was dangerously low. Isabella just stared at the roof, didn't want to look at him.

He chuckled. "I'll take that as a yes", he said, before he started pumping her again with his fingers. Isabella closed her eyes; the feeling of his fingers inside and his tongue on her most private place was too much, both in bad ways and good.

Charles gave her nub a last, tight suck, and her world exploded in stars and white-hot bliss. She had never imagined it could feel so intense, neither that the feeling kept riding her for so long.

Charles kept his administrations on her tormented pussy all while the orgasm made her body shake. He finally came up to her again, and kissed her passionately. Isabella tasted her self on his lips, and now that the sheer pleasure was over, she felt sick with herself. Charles smiled genuinely while he dressed her back on. "You see, sweetheart? I can give you great satisfaction, but also great hurt. And don't think for a second that you can avoid the pain."

He released her hands, only to retie them on her back and fasten her to the pole that kept the tent up. Then he tied her ankles together. "Sorry, sweetheart, but I really can't have you running off now. We will be leaving for London in a few hours, try to sleep some."

Isabella looked sourly on him. "That's easy in this position." Charles bent down on his knees, and petted her hair. "Don't be such a whiner, dear, it doesn't suit you." Then, with a last brutal kiss, Charles left Isabella confused, satisfied, outrageous, scared, frustrated and last but not least; completely and utterly filled with hate born lust.

* * *

r&r please guys:)


	8. Chapter VIII

Isabella smiled sweetly in her dreams. Charles stood in the opening of the tent and studied her. Her small mouth had curled in to a peaceful smile, and every now and then, her cheeks would jump tiny jolts. She had two dimples, he noticed, that he had never seen before, one on each side of her lips. The reason for that was probably that she had never smiled properly at him. At least, not like she was smiling now. She probably dreamed of her mother, or of him being slaughtered. Either one would make her smile happily like that.

Again, he caught himself in admiring her beauty. She really was a piece of God's truly natural art. Her face, so strong, with the heart shaped form and the pointed chin, looked undisturbed, just like the madonnas in the church. Her dark lashes and brows stood out from her pale skin and light hair, which shone like a halo in the soft morning light. Her lips, slightly pouted in her smile, were red and dry. She looked like a mermaid or some sort of mythical creature, alluring, serene and at the same time, dangerous.

Charles went in to the tent, and bent down. Isabella was leaning against the pole, her wrists sore and red beneath the rope. Charles freed her feet before waking her. "Bella, time to wake up." He lifted her chin slightly, and kissed her cheek. Isabella slowly opened her eyes. The very moment she saw who it was caressing her; the smile disappeared and was replaced by a scowl. "Get away from me, you dog!"

Charles didn't let go of her chin, but kept caressing her jaw. "That's not what you said a few hours ago, dearest.. Can't you even give me a little smile? You were smiling so lovely just a few moments ago.." Isabella gave him a sarcastic grin, one that didn't make her dimples stand out. "That was only because I was dreaming of you laying your head on the block!"

Charles brought out his knife. "I see that you still need a little lesson in submission, darling." He cut her loose from the pole, but instead of cutting her hands free, he pushed her forward so that she was sitting on her knees with her hands on her back.

Charles then took out his sword. It was a long, slim thing; he was proud of it. Brilliant likewise in battle as in teaching opposing wives-to-be a lesson.

Charles put the edge of the sword on Isabella's shoulder, and slowly circled her, like a wolf circles a deer. Isabella held her head down; she didn't want to look at his expression. Finally, when in front of her, Charles put the tip of the sword beneath Isabella's chin, and lifted it slowly. Isabella raised her eyes at him, making sure she looked as defiant as she could. She was a bit more rested now, and more than ready to give Charles the fight he deserved.

Charles put the sword away, and replaced it with his knife. He let the knife caress her face lightly, drawing a white pattern. Suddenly, he grabbed the front of her shirt, and hauled her up on her feet. He pulled on her shirt until she stood in her toes, her bound hands dangling in the air behind her. He looked so hateful at that moment that Isabella wanted to scream.

All of a sudden, he let go of her, and she fell towards the ground. Just before she hit it, Charles grabbed her again, this time by her hair. Isabella screamed, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. Charles didn't seem to care; he only kept on lifting her until she was on her feet. Then he bent her backwards, holding one arm around her waist, and the other one held the knife to her throat.

Isabella was never to forget this moment, when Charles stood there, with the knife at her throat, looking murderous with his piercing eyes staring in to hers.

Charles voice was nearly a whisper when he spoke. "I could do it, you know. Just one little slit, and you are out of my life, forever. You would never torture me again. Nor would you ever have to run from me again. You want me to do it? 'Cause both our problems would be solved if I did."

"So do it, then! Do it! Be a man for once, Brandon! Kill a back bound woman! Oh, what a man you would be then!"

Isabella shouted at Charles through gritted teeth. Did he want to kill her? Fine, then he could do it! It was on his conscious that she was unarmed and bound, that was not her problem!

Isabella screamed even louder when Charles took the knife and made a small cut on the side of her throat. She felt warm liquid on her skin; it was her own blood. It tickled her collarbone and coloured the top of her already dirty shirt crimson red.

Charles bent forward, and to Isabella's horror, he kissed her small wound and licked up some of her blood. Then he looked at her again. His teeth were bared, and with the blood drops on his lips, he looked like an ancient beast, from the time when humans hunted with their hands and ate their preys raw.

"That, Isabella, was just a little reminder that it is I who has the power in this relationship. You are more than welcome to battle me as much as you want, but keep this in mind; you can never beat me. Not now, not in ten years, not in twenty. And did you really think I would kill you? Did you really think I would let you get away that easy?"

Isabella just stared disgusted at him. She had never hated him as much as she that at that moment. His whole existence was a curse, damn the woman who had born him!

Charles turned Isabella around, and cut the ropes on her wrists. Then he stopped the bleeding her throat with a piece of his now clean cloak. "Get dressed, we are leaving quickly."

Isabella was a clearheaded girl, who knew which battles to fight and which to not. This was not the time or place to be opposing. She looked around her, and found her cloak in a corner. She put in on, and pulled the hood on. Then she yanked her boots on, and pushed her hair behind her hood. Charles grasped her wrist tight, and they went out of the tent.

* * *

The horses were readied, and the men stood by their animals when Charles and Isabella came out. The men couldn't see Isabella's face, but the people closest could see the small trickle of blood on her shirt beneath the cloak.

The men had mumbled and laughed a bit, but when Charles came out, everyone became totally silent. Charles tugged on her wrist, and Isabella almost fell in the mud. But Charles didn't care; he just kept the iron grip on her wrist and went on. Isabella swore and protested, but he just kept on, not letting go a tad. Isabella huffed over his control problems, and tried to keep up, which was not easy with the speed Charles had.

Charles had asked the men to ready Isabella's own horse, Tatou. He would make sure that Isabella rode beside him at all times, but if he had something taking him up, she would have five men on horseback surrounding her. She was not to get away this time.

Charles helped Isabella up on Tatou, before he gave the reins to a soldier next to him. Then he swung his leg over his own horse. "Men! We have a two-day, hard ride before us. One important thing; if you see this woman", Charles pulled Isabella's hood down, "alone elsewhere then in her tent, you must immediately take charge of her and make sure she is not alone until you can find me or one of you superiors. This is extremely important! The one who lets her get away, will be punished with 30 lashes. Is this understood?"

The men mumbled and agreed. Most of the soldiers looked at Isabella in awe. So this was the young woman who had driven the Duke of Suffolk completely mad with love and lust and who had outsmarted almost 300 men for five days.

Right now, even though she was caught, she looked proud and unafraid, just like a woman of her noble house should. Some of them noticed the hateful stares she gave the Duke, how her eyes became small slitters when she looked at him.

Everyone knew that the lady Stafford hated the Duke of Suffolk, but feeling this hatred so close by; some of the men even got shivers. The tension grew when the Duke turned to his fiancée and smiled. Lady Stafford did not return the smile, instead she scowled and kicked his calve. The men giggled slightly when the Duke held his leg and almost fell off the horse, while lady Stafford sat and snickered bitterly to her self.

* * *

While they rode, the sun grew higher and higher on the sky. Isabella rode in the middle of a group at the front, with every exit blocked by a riding soldier. Beside her, Charles rode, with a stern look in his eyes. Isabella could feel his eyes lingering on her, his stare burning a hole through her. She didn't look at him, but let her own eyes gaze over the escort. She could see glimpses of determination and intelligence her and there, but mostly, they were a bunch of brute idiots; thereby normal soldiers. Maybe she could use this to her advantage.

Isabella knew she had to escape Charles's clutches before they got to the main road. Charles had told her that as soon that they got to the residence of lady Hartford; the widow after lord James Hartford, carriages would take them to London and Whitehall.

If Charles got her in to a carriage, he would probably lock the doors with bolts, chains and put bars in front of the windows. All hope would be lost. She would have to live her life with Brandon, for many, many years. Hopefully, he would die in some sort of battle or maybe by a sickness. Then she could remarry and perhaps live her life again.

But Isabella couldn't help but wonder one thing. What would he do once he had got what he wanted? Once he had had her, would he want more? Or would he discover that the so-called love he proclaimed for her was just lust? Would he even want her any more? One could only hope that he might tire of her, and divorce her. Oh, what joy that would be! The look on his face when he understood that he did not love her, only wanted her for carnal reasons.

* * *

All while this was going through Isabella's head, Charles was watching her. He knew that look in her eyes; she was planning something. He leant to the side and squeezed her knee. Isabella turned to him, looking bored. "Whatever you are planning, girl, just drain it. Be a little sensible, do you honestly think that you can outrun all this men and myself?"

Isabella's face slowly cracked up in a sour smile. "The men, no. You, definitely." She laughed harshly, looking away again. Another squeeze on her knee made her turn around again. "What now? It is unbearable enough being with you, now you have you talk me to?"

Her breath was caught in her throat when she saw Charles's look. He actually looked hurt, as he was about to cry. Her heart, her cold, stone heart, started to beat within her chest. His vulnerable expression made her ache with remorse over being so spiteful. Her hand went out, by instinct, to his cheek. But just before she touched his skin, she pulled it back in, as if she was burned. His puppy like eyes had turned in to devilish slitters, and his sad, quivering lips smirked like never before.

"You see, Bella? All women are alike, just look hurt, and they will melt in a second. And you are no exception, precious."

Isabella felt disgusted; both with herself and Charles. Was it true? Was she just like any other woman that Charles had ever has just the tiniest bit of fancy with? She had always distanced herself from such women who fawned and giggled over such matters, but now, she understood them. Having Brandon's affection was a prize she had done nothing to deserve, and with reason. She didn't want him. End of story. He was a bully, a madman, possessive, groping, creature with bad temper. She loathed him, right? But still, Isabella felt the power of having a man's love. Or in this case, having a man's obsession. It was intoxicating, and while they rode, she let herself fall into a daydreams, of how life could have been if she had loved Charles. Things would have different. Very different.

Isabella suddenly woke up from the haze, and shook her head. What were this thoughts? She didn't wish to love this man, she didn't want him! She loathed him with her whole being! She shrugged and shook her head once more. Charles was a dreadful human, nothing else was possible. And his temper.. wait.

Another thought occurred to her, all of a sudden. In the tent, when he had.. well done what he had done to her, she had noticed something about the man riding next to her, something that perhaps could be the start of a plan. Something she had thought he was too much of a control freak to do; he let his passion and temper take over when she provoked him enough. If only she could slow them down a bit, so that they would have to stay overnight at the widow of Hartford, then she could tempt and taunt him until he cracked. And when Charles cracked, he was dumb and wild like a bull. Isabella smiled. This could actually work. Now, all she had to figure out was how to slow the convoy down.

* * *

Charles noticed the sudden smirk on his betrothed's face. It worried him. "What are you so smug about? I thought you would be half mad with anger right now." Isabella turned to him, and the smug expression disappeared. "Go to hell and stay there, soil eater."

Charles was amused. She certainly was a handful, and her creativity with his "nicknames" never failed to amaze him. He couldn't wait to get to the Hartford residence; there he would be totally alone with her in the carriage. Dark thoughts swirled around his mind while they trotted along the uneven road.


End file.
